


The Champion's Hatter

by Manniness



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-15
Updated: 2010-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/Manniness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happiness is rarely gained without having to pay a price.  And in some cases, it’s the sacrifice itself that makes the rewards so sweet...</p><p>Warnings: ANGST (seriously, you will need a box of tissues), Character Death, Sensuality</p><p>Written for the 2010 <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/aiw_big_bang/">Aiw_Big_Bang</a> on Live Journal</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

I'd never given much thought to friendship. What would a cat do with such a thing? It can't be Kept and is often Stolen, Broken, or simply Fades. Friendship, in short, is about as useful for a cat with Evaporating skills as a top hat.

Obviously, _that_ never stopped me from longing for a certain... Hightopp specimen. Both the hat and the man. A more delightfully mad man I'd never before met in all of Underland. Nor a more skilled dancer of the Futterwhacken! Oh, if I could have had but _one_ wish in my lifetime, it would have been for the ability to Futterwhacken. I would have had to give up my skills in Evaporation however, and that I could never have done! A cat, willingly and voluntarily relinquishing his seemingly un-expire-able ticket to a long and self-gratifying existence? Unheard of. Why, my Instinct for Survival would have skinned me alive!

I had been warned against friendship. That Instinct had whispered in my ears of betrayals and bootlickers and other bad things. And I'd listened. I would have been a fool not to, yes? Still, that hadn't stopped me from making my way to a certain tea table at a certain windmill in a certain clearing of Tulgey Wood. It hadn't stopped me from grinning at the thought of having an excuse to visit that highly entertaining mad man who so fascinated me. It hadn't stopped me from lurking nearby to watch the Alice's arrival and his entertainingly obvious relief and blatantly smitten behavior.

The tea had been mediocre, as usual, and the conversation dreadful. And something I'd said had prompted a rather unwarranted and undeserved round of scolding and accusations from the Hatter (but, really, he always _has_ been a bit touchy on the subject of Horvendush Day and the Jabberwocky and slayings and such) and the Alice had been perplexingly uncooperative... Still, I'm glad I hadn't quit the scene entirely when that bloody knave had shown up or I might have missed Tarrant's quite deliberate faux pas... Looking into that teapot before knocking! The others might have been fooled, but not I! Oh, yes, I know a Calculated Mistake when I see one!

Naughty, Tarrant.

He'd quite reminded me of... well, _me._

We could have been great friends, he and I. Truly _great_ friends. His associates, that dormouse with her suffocating attentiveness and that march hare with his half-baked-crisp-about-the-edges-yet-still-sloppy-in-the-middle brain had not had the wits to appreciate the mind of a mad hatter. (And there are so _few_ of them in Underland at any given time!) Yes, Tarrant Hightopp and I could have been the wittiest, the wisest, the most wonderful of friends.

For the fact that things had _not_ turned out that way, I can only blame myself, I know. It goes against the grain for a cat to accept responsibility, but perhaps my perspective now gives me the unfortunate tendency to see – and not ignore! – the truth.

Yes, Tarrant and I could have been friends.

Had, perhaps, been on our way to becoming so... what with my offer of assistance in that dungeon cell. An olive leaf of friendship wrapped up in a bargain that had been brewed of selfishness and vanity: a favor for the honor of wearing his marvelous hat. And Tarrant had accepted. He might have seen the grain of friendship behind the grin. He might have noticed the very un-cat-like way I'd endangered myself by entering that castle and risking my life for such a trifling thing as wearing a hat (even if the hat in question is beyond compare!) and he might have suspected my true motivations.

Despite my proclaimed aversion to the practice, I _had_ noticed one thing, you see:

Friendship – true friendship – is rare.

And I do _so_ admire rare things. I'd been sure that Tarrant – a collector of lovely oddities and a maker of fine things – would agree that friendship is, indeed, a most worthy subject of study, of collecting, of having (as much as anything so nebulous can be had), of owning (as much as a thing shared between two willful beings can be owned).

Yes, we might have become friends, but, in the end, I doubt it would have mattered much. For, if there is one thing that I, in all my years of unrepentant spying, have learned it is this:

There is the state of friendship, yes.

But it cannot conquer the empire of love.

 

* * *

 

"Alice."

She knows that lisp.

Alice Kingsleigh turns from the beautiful Underlandian sunrise and smiles at her dear friend. "Hatter."

His answering grin is – impossibly! – brighter than the rising orb on the far distant horizon.

"I was wondering when I would be seeing you."

"You're back," he observes wonderingly.

"Of course I am. I said I would be."

She studies his luminous, green eyes. His joy entrances her: his pale skin glows; his teeth – yellowed from hundreds if not thousands of leisurely savored cups of tea – are revealed by his dark lips which stretch into a beatific smile.

"I'm so glad you're back," he murmurs on a breath. He draws another, a deeper one which expands his chest, lifts his shoulders and, oddly enough, seems to fluff his polka-dot bow tie.

"I'm very glad to be back. And to be seeing you again." She turns toward him and, as she does so, her leather jerkin creaks. For a moment, she wishes this meeting had happened at some other time. A time when she'd been wearing something a bit more... flattering. After all, the Hatter has never seen her in an actual dress, has he? She wonders if he would like... or, rather, if he would at all appreciate the effort... well, if he might prefer it to...

"Yes," the Hatter muses, hesitantly taking a step toward her. "You _are_ seeing me, aren't you..."

His tone is woven from pure awe, as if he can hardly believe that she is finally standing in front of him.

"Very much so." And she takes her time examining him. He looks just as she remembers: his gravity-defying, vibrant hair; his bemused, boyish smile; his peacock blue brocade jacket with its spools of thread strung across his chest and pink handkerchief trailing out of his pocket; his Hightopp clan colors wrapped around his hips; his magnificently mismatched stockings and worn, leather boots...

Her lips curve until her smile is stretched as far as it can go.

"I asked about you, you know. But no one could tell me where you were."

"They couldn't?"

"Yes, not even Mallymkun, which I thought was odd." Alice considers the dormouse's unhelpful, hostile huff: _"No one knows where th''Atter's gone!"_

"Odd," she muses aloud. "Mally's always kept an eye out for you, hasn't she?"

The Hatter's smile dims until it is a mere memory. Alice hurriedly calls it back.

"Hatter, why _is_ a raven like a writing desk?"

And _there._ Alice basks in the warmth of his smile. "I haven't the slightest idea."

The sunrise is forgotten as they exchange grins. Alice wishes she could step closer, bridge the distance between them as he had when he'd wished her fairfarren...

Heart pounding, she struggles to gather her muchness...

As she does so, she notices how still he is. How confidently he stands. He's always been a bit shaky, a bit _wound_ with tension, but that's all gone now. Absent. Peace, it seems, agrees with him. And yet...

The rays of the rising sun reflect off of the claymore he holds, point down in the turf, as if it is a walking staff and not a deadly weapon.

 _Perhaps,_ Alice allows, _he is not so ready to put down the sword._

Just like she is.

Alice comments, "I'm supposed to be practicing. Champion training."

He nods, his expression too full of words for them to be spoken aloud.

Again, she drops her gaze to the claymore in his possession. Yes, perhaps he carries it because he feels he needs it, or perhaps he carries it in the hope that Alice will assist him with finding a need _for_ it.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to assist me?" she asks, drawing her own sword.

He giggles. "I might."

"That's very thoughtful of you," she praises him.

His smile is boyish with delight. "I might be. I _am_ full of thoughts."

 _And riddles!_ she muses with a soft laugh. "And what sorts of thoughts are you full of today?"

The Hatter considers this. His answering remark is spoken as softly as the dawn. "Alice ones."

She blinks and hears herself wonder aloud, "Are you often full of Alice thoughts?"

"From time to time."

"That's odd," she comments, answering his play on words with a twist and spin of her own, "because you don't look like an Alice, so how can you be full of Alice thoughts?"

"That," he replies, leaning forward and speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, "would be because I'm full of Hatter thoughts about an Alice."

"Any Alice, then?" she teases, charmed. "There are an awful lot of Alices."

"No, no. I'm very certain there's just one Alice in all of Underland. The Alice."

"And here's an Alice now," she replies, gesturing to herself. "Do you think this is the right one?"

"I've no doubt about it. I'd know the Alice anywhere!"

"Even here?"

"Most especially _here._ "

"And here I am. Imagine the coincidence!" she says, giddy with the thrill of their meandering game of words.

"I have," he answers, his green eyes dimming with sadness. "Many times."

And just that quickly, the game is over. "Hatter... I'm sorry."

"I don't mind." He explains with a visible effort at levity, "I rather enjoy imagining a coincidental Alice. Although you're much more imaginative than she'd ever been, but perhaps that's because I've imagined her so many times before."

The odd closure that had snapped shut in her throat and locked makes it difficult for her to answer. As with everything, she does her best: "I'm sorry you had to imagine her so many times. The real Alice should have arrived sooner. I'm sorry I didn't."

"But you are here now. And I am here now. And as _Now_ is the moment of most paramount concern, I nominate it as the primary subject to which we ought to direct our thoughts."

She grins at his wisdom couched in barely decipherable loquacity.

"If you are ready, Champion?" he inquires, straightening and lifting his sword.

With a decisive nod, Alice lifts her own weapon. They circle each other. Step forward, then back, and then...!

Their swords clash, ring, and each encounter echoes in the quiet of early morning.

Alice laughs. The sun is shining on them, warm and welcoming, and their swords meet again and again, conducting an incomparable duet that rolls up the sides of the mountains and then tumbles back into the valley. The Hatter faces her, colorful, solid, lithe, _male_ and Alice has never partaken of a more thrilling dance.

 _Much better than the quadrille,_ she decides.

And just when things are beginning to speed up, just when she feels the prickle of sweat on the back of her neck, a motion in the distance interrupts. Interferes.

The Hatter steps back and lowers his sword. He stands straight and still, regards her with a gaze that reaches out to her, beckons her closer.

"Your instructor is here," he observes when she takes up that invitation, takes a step closer to him, her own sword trailing on the grass.

"Yes, he is," she replies, her gaze never leaving him.

His lips twist into a smile. He tilts his head toward her, bowing slightly in recognition of the praise. "'Tis th' student who makes th' instructor," he observes.

"Well, this one still owes hers for a timely infusion of muchness."

"Muchness," he replies solemnly, his hand twitching in her direction, "does not take to infusion, I'm afraid."

Alice replies, reaches for his hand and grasps it in her own. "But it responds to inspiration?" she guesses.

He grins. "I'd give you a hand with it, but–" He glances down and brushes his bandaged thumb over her knuckles. "– you've already got it in one."

Her court-appointed instructor is close enough to overhear her, but she doesn't care. "You don't have to go."

The Hatter's eyes soften and he gently releases her hand in order to reach out and tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm afraid I do. I've... work to do."

She smiles. "Yes. Your hats. I've yet to try one on."

His answering smile is laced with sudden unshed tears. "I remember." He glances over his shoulder at the approaching White Knave. "But I must go."

"Will I see you at lunch?"

He shakes his head. "After dinner perhaps."

"On the balcony."

"Yes. On the balcony."

And, after dinner, that is precisely where she finds him. After the long day is through – training in swordplay, lunch, Underland history lessons, tea with the queen, a self-guided tour of the second floor of the castle (well, actually, the hall runner _had_ been rather forthcoming about various features such as the pianoforte recital room: "Last used by young Princess Iracebeth, you know. Was quite taken with the instrument, actually!") and then dinner – Alice finds her reward.

The Hatter is waiting for her on the balcony – _their_ balcony – where she'd once insisted he had been nothing more than a dream. A figment of her imagination.

She's very glad that's not the case. Not any longer.

She doesn't hesitate to stand beside him now. She slowly threads her hand through his arm, curving her fingers into the crook of his elbow as he watches.

Alice waits for him to step away, shake her off, twitter or giggle nervously. She waits for him to panic or shiver with uncertainty or babble-ramble-shout!

He doesn't. He stands perfectly still. It is _Alice_ who shivers at the latent strength of him. In fact, she'd worry he was an impostor if not for the fact that his face still shows her precisely what he feels, as he feels it, without reservation.

He smiles, sighs, closes his brilliantly green eyes and leans his cheek against her temple.

This time, there are no words here on the balcony.

Well, none that are said aloud. But the important ones are _present_ nonetheless.

 _I've missed you_ , she tells him through the warmth of her shoulder pressed against his.

 _I don't want you to go yet,_ she tells him through the strength of her grasp on his jacket sleeve.

 _I trust you,_ she tells him through the contentment in her sigh.

The Hatter rubs his cheek against her hair and replies, _Me, too._

 _  
_

* * *

_  
_

"Have you seen Chessur anywhere?" Alice asks. She'd intended for her voice to be a soft whisper, but even that little bit of sound seems to echo in the stillness of the very early morning.

The Hatter strolls beside her, the crook of his elbow keeping her hand in its warm company. At her inquiry, he pauses briefly then offers her an apologetic smile before resuming their walk through the blossoming trees.

"In all honesty, I'm not sure where he is now," the Hatter admits. "Although I imagine his ability to make a nuisance of himself hasn't diminished in the slightest."

"Why _did_ the two of you never get along?"

"Oh, but we did!" he assures her. "When the occasion called for it, we could be quite cooperative."

Alice considers his reply. "' _Called_ for it'?" she confirms. "You doubt you'll be in a situation where you'll need his help again?"

The Hatter glances down at her and smiles. His gaze is oddly _reaching_ – hungry, starved, desperate – when he looks at her. "I certainly hope I won't."

She stares into his eyes until his brows twitch and he turns away. With the weight of such visceral expectation removed from her, she finds a smile.

"I hope you'll consider coming to me if you find yourself in need of assistance."

"Of course, I will, Alice," he assures her. "You are the one on which I hope I can rely... solely."

Her fingers curl tighter around his arm even as her smile stretches wider. "I would be honored to be that person." The words resonate in her heart, ring with a Truth she's never acknowledged before.

The Hatter shakes his head in gentle disagreement. "You don't realize... you always _have_ been, Alice."

"Thank you."

He giggles. "I believe you've stolen the very next words out of my mouth."

"How odd for that to have happened," she exclaims. "However shall I return them to you?"

"We shall have to invent a satisfactory method," he contributes.

"Well, let me know if you have any suggestions?" And she must imagine that his green eyes have focused – well, insofar as they can truly agree long enough to focus on anything! – on her mouth.

"Of course."

She nods. She tries to feel satisfied by his assurance, but her blood is tingling just a bit too warmly for her to do so. Very distracting, that buzzing frenzy of heat zipping through her veins.

They walk a bit more along the stone path. The breeze plays with the branches of the trees and blossom petals tumble and dive through the air. Some of them land on Alice's shoulders and in her hair.

"Do you think they're celebrating something? The trees?" she muses, using her unoccupied hand to pick a petal off of her tunic. She considers it for a moment.

The Hatter pauses beside her and regards the petal balanced on the tip of her finger. "There is much to be celebrated, is there not?"

"More to celebrate than to _not_ ," she clarifies and draws a breath to deliver a puff of air to send it on its way. The wind beats her to it and they watch the petal flutter off on the breeze, much like Absolem might.

"Speaking of things worthy of a celebration, you are enjoying a morning free from training today, are you not? What will you do with yourself?" the Hatter asks.

Alice grins. Yes, today she is not required to report to the training field. When she'd been informed of her unanticipated allotment of free time, she'd had a good long think about what she would like to do with her morning.

"Well, I thought I might spend it with you, if you have no objections."

"I cannot think of a single one."

"That's good because I'd be out of ideas otherwise."

"And then I would be obliged to assist you with thinking up more."

"Well, with any luck, that won't be necessary. Follow me!" she declares.

They wind their way through the orchard until they come to a small clearing. It had obviously been meant for picnics but Thackery had assisted her the day before with making a few... alterations.

The Hatter seems to forget that he can walk under his own power when he turns and takes in the scene before them. A series of tables have been linked together and covered with various tablecloths. There are four steaming pots of tea and an assortment of delicacy-laden dishes: scones, battenburg, bread, butter, jams...

"I thought we might reinstate an old tradition," she muses.

"But... Alice... I can't..."

"I know it's not teatime, but humor me? I've missed our teas." Alice ignores the fact that she can only clearly recall the one. The one she'd been a bit too small to truly enjoy despite the Hatter's unrelenting hospitality. The one that Stayne had rudely interrupted. The one during which she had been further shrunken and stuffed into a teapot. Still, despite all that (or perhaps because of it!) she's eager to give one of the Hatter's tea parties another try!

His expression, which had been bordering on distressed, relaxes into a warm grin. "As have I. Missed you. Them. Missed you at them. At tea, I mean. I've missed having you at tea. Having tea with you. Yes, that's what I meant to say."

"Then let's remedy that."

She leads him to his chair – the throne-like monstrosity she'd found in an unused, dusty room in the castle – very nearly running in her excitement. The Hatter giggles and jogs along with her.

"Your chair, sir Hatter," she invites with a courtly bow.

Chuckling, he takes his seat. "Why thank you, madam Champion. It appears you've gotten it to agree to be quite accommodating."

"What sort of hostess would I be if I hadn't?"

"A delightful one nonetheless, I'm sure," he replies.

Alice reaches for a pot of Underlandian Breakfast blend and pours. "Cream? Sugar?" she asks.

"No, no," he replies, leaning forward and inhaling the steam deeply. "It's perfect just as it is."

"Well, that'll be Thackery's doing. The tea, I mean. He's getting Mallymkun now."

The Hatter stills and glances up. His voice is oddly neutral despite his sudden tension. "Mally and Thack are... coming to tea. With us?"

"Of course! It'll be grand," Alice announces, taking her own seat and pouring for herself. The Hatter watches as she adds a bit of cream and then takes a sip. She closes her eyes and leans back in her chair. "I've missed this."

"But you have tea every day with the queen. Isn't that right, Alice?"

"Yes, but it's always pale Darjeeling. Not at all like _real_ tea."

He giggles. "Yes, yes, but it is _proper_ tea. White Darjeeling for the White Queen!"

"You've made a rhyme!" Alice informs him and his brows leap upward and his eyes nearly glow and his gap-toothed grin widens...

"What rhyme?"

Alice startles and turns toward that voice. She stands and greets the approaching guests with a smile. "Mallymkun! Thackery! So glad you could join us!"

Thackery tumbles up, twitching, into his chosen seat. Mally climbs up onto the perch that had been prepared for her. Tea is poured and pleasantries exchanged.

When Thackery demands to be sugared and Mally accepts the challenge, Alice glances toward the Hatter's untouched and cooling cup.

"Is your tea all right, Hatter?" she asks softly, leaning toward his chair.

"It's perfect," he assures her in a tone that's equally soft.

Mally chooses that moment to launch her teaspoon catapult and Thackery scrambles to dodge the sugar cubes he doesn't want and catch the one he does. Although, how he'd determined which sugar cube is the optimal one, Alice can only guess. A march hare's sugar cube criterion is not something she thinks she can completely grasp.

"Hatter?"

"Yes?"

"How _does_ Thackery choose the best sugar cube?"

"Hm. I'm not entirely certain, although if I were him, I'd only accept the ones that seem friendly."

"Friendly?"

"Yes, of course! Would _you_ like to drink a sugar cube that had _scowled_ at you?"

"Oh. Sour-faced sugar. I see your point."

"See!" Thackery shouts, pointing a furry digit at Alice, who startles. "See!" he adds, aiming another pointed finger at Mally.

Alice waits for him to add a third assertion and gesture in the Hatter's direction.

He doesn't.

Alice frowns. "He's right, you know. You really _ought_ to say hello or Thackery will continue to think you're ignoring him."

The Hatter sighs and summons a strained smile. "Good morning, Thackery. Pleasant day to you, Mally."

Thackery merely returns to his tea cup, watching the lump of sugar dissolve.

Mally places her fists on her hips and glowers. "I _did_ say 'ello! An' Thack knows I ain't ignorin' 'im!"

Before Alice can protest, the Hatter reaches across the tablecloth and places a hand over hers. She glances down at his warm, mercury-kissed fingers.

"'Tis fine, Alice. Mayhap today is not the day for chatting with me."

"Are there many of those days in a week?" she asks.

He tilts his head to the side. It's not an answer, exactly, but the admission of a possibility.

Thackery, however, enthuses, "E'eryb'dae kens thar's a baker's dozen days in a week!"

Mally giggles. "'Course Time always gets hungry an' eats a few afore they're done coolin'!"

Alice chuckles, enjoying a sudden image of Chessur harassing Time for a taste of a day. Even for a incorporeal entity like Time, she imagines Chessur could be quite a pest! "And I wouldn't put it past Chessur to steal one or two for himself, either," she adds, teasingly.

Oddly enough, no one laughs.

Tarrant's hand tightens over hers. "Let us try a riddle or a rhyme, Alice," he lisps gently.

"All right. What goes up but never falls?"

"A ghost!" Thackery shouts.

"Naw, it ain't! It's an idea, ain't it, Alice?"

Alice gives her a wink and turns back to the Hatter. "Would you care to try?"

"I concur with Thackery," he murmurs.

"Well, it's not a ghost and it's not an idea." She reaches for the teapot and refills Thackery's cup.

"Ah..." he sighs. "Loveleh steam."

"Correct," she praises him. "More tea, Mally?"

"Yes, thank you."

Alice then turns toward the Hatter who merely puts his hand over his teacup and shakes his head. She sets the teapot down.

"Well, help yourself whenever you'd like more," she says and then turns toward Thackery. "Would you pass the bread and butter, please?"

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Yet again, when Mirana awakens and, yawning, waves her hands toward her bedroom curtains (which obligingly open), her gaze is drawn toward the training field... where Alice is training. Alone. The White Queen frowns as her champion swings her weapon of choice – a claymore – right and left and lunges and parries... with no one.

For nearly a weeks' worth of dawns, the queen has been met with this sight upon rising. It's becoming... odd. Which means it's time to investigate.

She dresses and makes her graceful way down to the field below. Alice seems to become aware of her presence even before the queen announces herself.

"Alice! You've gotten another early start!"

Her champion turns and grins. "I've good motivation." Her gaze flickers briefly off to the side.

Mirana catalogs this and continues, "I'm glad to hear it. I must admit I admire your... passion and dedication to your training! Although," she teases gently, "I do fear you might be taking the old adage – that we are ourselves our own most formidable foes – to a new level."

"I don't understand."

The queen frowns. "Yes, I can see from your expression you don't." She considers a myriad of other possibilities. "Am I under a misapprehension with regards to your early morning activities on the field?"

"I don't believe so. I mean, I'm training, Your Majesty. We're sparring."

"Ah." Despite having her assumptions confirmed, Mirana is only _more_ puzzled. "And... with whom are you sparring?"

"The Hatter."

"The Ha—!" The queen blinks. Her hands twitch in the air. She gathers herself. Gently, she explains, "Alice, that cannot be. There is no one else here but the two of us."

Alice frowns and glances to the left where her eyes focus on _something_ and evaluate it very thoroughly. What that _something_ is, however, Mirana cannot say. When Alice returns her attention to the queen, her expression tightens into one of supreme unhappiness. "It's very rude of you to ignore someone."

And before Mirana can gasp at her champion's forthright reprimand, Alice turns her attention sharply to that _something_ she sees and – apparently – _hears_ to the left.

"Well, perhaps I shouldn't have, but it's true!" she insists after a beat of silence. "After all you've done... the Resistance and... and all of it, she shouldn't act as if you're not here at all! _None_ of them should!"

"Alice," the White Queen gently interrupts. "Alice, I do not see or hear anyone other than you and myself."

"This is ridiculous!" she proclaims and then she glances once more to the left, glares. "Yes, fine. I'll see you there later."

Mirana watches Alice, who appears as if she is watching someone walk away. After several long moments, she turns back to the White Queen and scowls. Fiercely. Mirana fights the urge to back up a step. "He was just trying to help. With my training. He's very good with a sword."

"Is he? I'm afraid I wouldn't know, Alice." Mirana swallows against her sudden uneasiness.

"Well, the Hatter is an excellent swordsman. Take my word for it."

Mirana summons a smile. "I shall have to, Alice."

And as she gives ground to the approaching captain of the White Guard – the White Knave, a fellow named Reginald – and Alice's instructor, Mirana ponders the deeply unsettling possibility that Alice, the Queen's Champion, has gone Mad.

Yes, it's true that they're all mad here, in Underland, but this...

This Madness is beyond Mirana's ken.

And it continues to confound her. Mirana makes a point of keeping an eye on her champion. Most times, Alice seems absolutely fine. She speaks to people Mirana can also see, passes the salt to her very visible dining companions, avoids brushing elbows with non-imaginary courtiers and servants in the halls. And yet...

Every morning, Alice can be found on the training field, claymore clutched in both hands, battling some unseen opponent. And every evening, Alice excuses herself from dinner as soon as politeness allows and hurries to a certain balcony overlooking the valley... where she stands and, apparently, speaks... to no one at all. A "no one" with whom she whispers softly, too softly for the queen (or the servants or any number of Alice's friends whom she sends to keep an eye on her) to make out the words. A "no one" whom she refers to as "the Hatter."

It all leads to one, inescapable conclusion.

 

* * *

 

"She does not know."

Thackery contemplates the wooden mixing bowl in his paws. The castle kitchens shake and shudder around him but the bowl is steady. Steady. Yes, like _tea._ Tea is steady in his paws as well. He likes that. It makes him nervous when the room, the trees, the sky, the _world_ shivers and trembles around him, but not afternoon cups of tea, not mixing bowls, not spoons! Those are _safe._ They keep _him_ safe. They stop him from rattling to pieces like the rest of Underland is always on the verge of doing!

"I know, Yahr Majesty."

"Mallymkun... we should... tell her..."

Thackery sniffs a vibrating eggbeater. Is it still good or has it gone off? Won't do to use it if the latter's the case!

"No... no..."

" _Please_ , Mally. Alice is not... well. She talks to... _him._ She even believes she _spars_ with him!"

"I know."

"You _know?_ Why haven't you said anything to me about this before now?"

No, no eggbeater for _this_ batch of potatoes. It's definitely past its whisk-by date. _What is the date?_ he suddenly wonders. Does he have any dates? Quite good with potatoes, dates are! They add color to an otherwise pale dish.

"Dates!" he asserts suddenly and, out of the corner of his eye, on the quaking side of the room, he sees two pale heads turn toward him. Their voices stop. The silence is suddenly Too Much.

The twitch this results in makes the walls nearly tumble to the ground around him and he clutches the bowl to his chest. Waits. Watches first one wall and then another. They quaver, waver, dance. But will they _fall?_ A moment passes. Maybe more. And no. No, they do not fall. They're still up-standing walls.

"Och, nauw tha's a relief," he tells the bowl.

In its perfect silence, it agrees.

Across the kitchen, the voices resume their banter.

"I didn' tell yah because maybe I don' wan' Alice teh know. Even though I can't see 'im, th'... th'... th'Atter's... _there._ She _makes '_ im... _there._ An' I'd rather see 'im _not_ there than know he's no' _anywhere_."

"Mally... I know you wish things had happened differently. But the past is past. Even I cannot change it."

Ah, _change!_ Yes, yes, the eggbeater is disqualified – he tosses it across the room – but here's a large _serving fork!_

"A fork in th' road!" he crows. It shivers until he picks it up in his paw and then it is silent, still, cooperative. He turns the utensil this way and that, examining how its shadow divides the waves of sunlight that spill across the floor. "Yes, yes, ye'll do nicely!" Thackery informs it. He places it carefully in the bowl.

"Don' tell 'er. Don'..."

Thackery sets down his supplies, pivots on his large, hairy heel three times, gains the proper perspective, picks up the pepper mill and grinds a bit on himself. Yes, cooking's a _dangerous_ business. It's best to take precautions! He sneezes twice and the world almost explodes around him. Almost. If not for the black pepper, it very well _might_ have!

He stands from the defensive crouch he'd assumed when the Worst had very nearly happened, picks up the bowl and serving fork again – they'd been trembling in fear while out of his company; it's nice to know he's missed, needed, a comfort to some, even if they are kitchenware – and croons to them. "A nice toe and tomato salad," he tells them. "Yes, yes, tha' woul' b' gehd!"

The kitchen door opens. His ear twitches.

"Your Majesty," Alice greets someone at the queen's potion table. "Mallymkun."

The voice-makers say nothing and Thackery warbles, "Tha's a _guilty_ silence, there! Guilty as a borogove, ye chatter mongers!"

He glares up at the high windows. Borogove holes, those. Big enough to be, certainly. Must keep an eye out for those smelly floor mops! His only recipe for borogoves is a pie that always ends with burnt feathers and a soapy aftertaste. Very bad with tea.

"Thackery?"

He spins again on his heel. Twice this time. "Aye, wha'tis i'ye wee bessom?"

"Has the Hatter been by for lunch?"

Thackery blinks. First the left eye and then the right. The kitchen is suddenly still. Very still. Even those voice-makers off at the queen's potions table are quiet. He doesn't like this quiet. Too quiet.

"No' t'day. Nae lunch t'day," Thackery coughs.

"Oh. Well, he _should_ eat."

"Oh, aye, aye. He _should!_ " That's very true. Eating is Necessary. All things eat. Thackery eats many things in Underland and Underland eats its citizens. Thackery has half a mind to take that up with Underland except he'd rather not lose the second half of his mind in the attempt; he _strongly_ suspects Underland had stolen and made a snack of the first half! Not that he can blame it. All things _eat!_ And they eat all manner of things! Even halves of march hare minds! He's quite lucky Underland hadn't felt the inclination to devour his head!

Lost heads. Dreadfully sad things, those. No tea to be had for them at all!

He hears a sigh. It must be Alice's. The voice-makers are still guilty in their silence.

"Will you have him eat something the next time you see him? For me?"

To that, it's easy to agree. "Yes, yes! The ver'nex'happenstance!" When had been the last time he'd seen the Hatter? Had there been a tea table involved? Perhaps a nice, stable cup of tea... Yes, tea...

"Thank you, Thackery."

"Tha' sounds loveleh," he muses aloud, drops the bowl and leaps for the kettle. Yes, a nice, non-shifting cup of perfectly motionless tea!

She turns to go and he warns her, "Ye'll b' late fer tea!"

"That's fine. Start without me. I'm going to have a word with the Hatter."

Thackery pauses, the kettle of water hovering above the stove.

The door closes behind her just as the kettle bangs into it. Thackery ducks as the racket shakes the ceiling. He clutches the bowl to his chest.

"You see, Mallymkun? She _must_ be told."

"Th' reason yah ain't wantin' teh tell 'er yahrself is jus' as good as _my_ reason for refusin' do it for yah!"

"Please, Mally. She will ask you... eventually."

"Let 'er! I ain't sayin' nuthin'!"

"Unfortunately, Mallymkun, you will have to. I have to consider what's best for Alice. And I must ask you to do the same."

The voice-makers settle into a testing sort of silence. Oh, yes, there's a glare over there, on the other side of the room. It makes the air vibrate. In his paws, the bowl quivers. In the bowl's hollow, the fork trembles.

"There, there, we're al'righ'nauw..." he soothes them both. And they quiet, still, accept his reassurances. And the bowl and its silverware, safe and shakeless in his grasp, soothe him.

 

* * *

 

Alice lets the kitchen door swing shut behind her. She doesn't try to stop it from slamming. She'd actually _like_ for it to slam. An exclamation point on the end of the silence with which she'd answered the queen's wary stare and Mally's self-incriminating slouch.

When had the queen started looking at Alice as if she were the next Jabberwocky in the making?

When had Mally stopped meeting Alice's gaze?

"Should have said something," she chastises herself.

A bit further down the corridor, a well-dressed courtier leans out of concealed balcony to apparently investigate the echoing mumble, sees Alice and...

Before Alice can nod in greeting, the woman startles and, eyes wide, ducks back out of sight.

How... odd.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Alice mutters as she strides past that particular balcony. The gauzy curtains billow in the brillig breeze and she glimpses a trio of courtly figures. Their heated whispers are carried on the wind, but the words themselves are lost. Still, Alice doesn't think she imagines the flinch they execute as she walks by.

Not for the first time, Alice wonders if she has somehow done something... wrong. Or perhaps something unforgivably Uplandish. Has she failed to pay enough compliments? Do they resent her for her position as queen's champion? Do they fear her for it?

And what of the queen herself? Are those wary stares the result of regret?

 _Does she fear me now?_ Alice wonders anxiously and feels a twinge of regret at her display of door-slamming frustration.

But what of Mallymkun? Hasn't the dormouse always encouraged Alice to be braver, stronger, _the_ Alice? Hasn't Mally always challenged her in that way? Pushed her to become what she is? Why would she show shame for that? And why so suddenly?

Has it been sudden?

Alice pulls up short at the top of the stairs. She'd been thinking of resuming her tour of the castle today. (She'd promised herself she would make the acquaintance of the large, luxurious rug in the west turret's round room of stained glass windows. She's sure each depicts a moment in Marmoreal's history. And, like all the rugs in the castle, she's quite confident that this one knows its room better than anyone. If only she could get that blasted floor covering to _speak_ to her!) However, as Alice considers the recent changes in everyone – changes in the behavior they've been showing toward her more and more over the past dozen days or so – she forgets about the stained glass scenes of Marmoreal's past. She forgets about recalcitrant rugs.

There must be a _reason_ for why everyone is behaving so oddly around her! And there is only one explanation:

There is something very _wrong_ here.

And she can't help but wonder if it is somehow related to the injustices her dear friend suffers: the cold shoulders, the lack of consideration. Why, no one even _greets_ the man at all! Well, not that _she_ has heard or seen!

Why is it _she_ is the only one the Hatter speaks to? Why is _she_ the only one who replies? Who seems to hear or see him at all? And why does he never wear his beloved top hat anymore?

"There's Alice, innit?" a voice declares and Alice blinks, turns, and summons a smile at the sight of two roundish, identical boys.

"It must be Alice. It's the right Alice size an' shape."

"Right you are," she assures them. "And you look like a pair of Tweedles. Dum and Dee I presume?"

"Presumin's a frightful habit," one says.

The other agrees, "Never know when you're presumin' turns to presupposin'..."

"An' before you know it, your prerequisite's worn out."

"And that would be a very poor state of affairs, indeed," Alice summarizes.

"But bein' as how you ain't presupposin'..."

"An' your prerequisites are safe..."

"What _are_ you doin' staring at the stairs?"

"Stairs don' appreciate bein' stared at," one warns. His brother nods in agreement.

Alice sighs. "Oh, I was just... thinking. I hadn't meant to stare at the... stairs."

Despite their earnest advice, Alice suddenly finds the situation utterly laughable. Stare at the stair, indeed! She'll have to tell the Hatter that little piece of wisdom and see what he makes of it. A riddle, perhaps. He is just as fond as ever of making riddles.

The sound of a throat being cleared calls Alice back to the conversation. She blinks at the sight of Nivens McTwisp nervously stroking one paw over the other as he shivers with each rabbity pant he takes.

"Champion Alice?"

"Yes? What is it McTwisp?" She glances at the Tweedles who are elbowing each other and jerking their heads in her direction, obviously debating exactly who will be charged with the honor of telling her something that – at this moment – seems as if it will be rather unpleasant.

"Are you..." McTwisp begins and then glances to the left and to the right. "... free to speak. At the moment. In private?"

"Of course," she answers.

"You are sure I'm not... interrupting... anything?" he checks with more hesitance and delicacy than usual.

Alice frowns then looks toward the Tweedles. "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"

"No, nothing urgent," one answers.

"Especially as you're just yourself at the moment," the other continues.

"Just myself?" she inquires.

"Right, as opposed to there bein' you and someone else."

"But it's just you."

"Or, we _think_ it is."

"Innit?"

Alice blinks. "I... Excuse me... What?"

"What the boys mean to ask is..." McTwisp squeaks nervously. "... are you seeing anyone other than the four of us at this moment?"

She frowns. "No. Why, are _you?_ "

The Tweedles frantically shake their round heads.

"No how."

"No way."

"But you've found a way, haven't you, Alice?"

"Right. She talks to folk that ain't there sometimes."

"Not sometimes just in the mornin' an' in the evenin'."

"That's _sometimes._ "

Alice's frown deepens. She turns to McTwisp. "What are they talking about?"

Again, the white rabbit pets his own paws. "Well, you see, Alice. Actually... That is, well, you see... You see..."

"You see the Hatter," one of the boys finally announces.

"Well, of course I do. And you shouldn't ignore him the way you have been," she scolds them.

The other Tweedle shakes his head. "Wouldn't ignore him if we could see him."

"But, you see, we can't."

"Right, it's just you, Alice."

"Oh, dear," McTwisp mutters. "Alice, if you would please give me a moment in private?"

Alice looks from the white rabbit to the twin boys. Her suspicions forming, she asks, "Tweedles, did you want to talk to me about anything _specific_ or were you just checking on me?"

"There's no harm in checking on a friend."

"Might be harm in _not_ checking if'n the friend in question is a might mad."

"Like—"

"Me?" she finishes.

"Right."

"Exactly."

Through gritted teeth, Alice replies, "In that case, thank you for your thoughtful concern. McTwisp..." She turns toward the rabbit who visibly startles. "Is the topic of the conversation you'd like to have in private at all _related_ to this matter?"

"Er, well, you see, Alice, I... yes."

She crosses her arms over her chest.

Nivens hurriedly explains, "People are beginning to ask _questions_ you see and..."

"Yes," she interjects, noting the apprehensive gaze of not only the white rabbit but the Tweedles as well. "I _do_ see."

Yes, she had noticed that the speculative stares – the stares aimed at _her_ – have changed. Yet, somehow, she had _not_ noticed that even these two forever-young, forever-round boys have taken up the practice as well. Nor had she noticed that Nivens McTwisp has been far more anxious than usual.

"Thank you for bringing these... curiosities to my attention," she informs them. "But I'm quite fine and even if I _am_ imagining things from time to time, I think you'll agree that that's no one's business but mine!"

And with that, she turns on her heel and heads for the stairs.

Alice strides through the castle corridors, her steps fueled with impotent frustration. For the first time, she does not marvel at the castle's size and maze-like qualities. After nearly a fortnight in residence she _still_ hasn't managed to acquaint herself with all the halls, all the rooms. The castle is _vast._ And, for the first time, she wishes it were a bit smaller; her destination is still too far away for her liking.

And yet, despite the vastness of it and the quiet of its pale halls, there always seems to be someone watching her, no matter _where_ she happens to be. Tonight she passes a fish butler who shrinks from her gaze, his oddly inexpressive face... fearful.

Yes, she _has_ seen that expression often, hasn't she? Why, just moments ago, in the kitchens, she had seen it manifested in the queen's dark eyes _and_ in Mallymkun's shrinking gaze! They'd been talking about her! she suddenly realizes. Gossiping! She thinks back to her arrival in the kitchen – thinks very carefully – but recalls nothing. She'd arrived just in time to overhear _nothing but their guilty silence!_

But she can hazard a guess as to what they'd been discussing: Alice, the mad champion who sees a hatter who isn't really there!

Alice fists her hands as she marches along the hall. She sets her jaw, fights against the evidence that begins stacking in her mind...

An answer – an _impossible_ answer to that riddle – is whispered into her ear. But this impossible thing Alice does not want to believe, to contemplate, to entertain. Yes, she enjoys the impossible, but not _this_ thing. This thing can _remain_ impossible for all she cares! And she does care very much that it continue to do so!

She arrives on the balcony just as the sun has set behind the mountains and the sky is bloody tonight in its wake.

Blood. The color of _life._

It paints all in its path: the valley, the castle, the balcony, the curtains rustling in her wake. She pauses and considers the scene before her.

Yes, this is her life now, mad though it may be.

She hesitates long enough to study the man no one else sees except for her: his wild hair, his strong back and shoulders, his solidity and realness and _hatter-ness_. His stillness. He's waiting for her again, as he has been every evening thus far. Nearly a fortnight of often-times silent and sometimes whisper-filled twilights on this balcony. Of companionship and contentment and cautious caring and casual caresses...

It's no longer enough for her.

Alice remembers the shimmer of doubt – of _fear –_ in the queen's dark eyes. The shying motion of both the fish butler and Mallymkun – not in concert but on two distinct occasions. The pitying, wary, apprehensive stares that follow her around the premises; the very same look that she sees in McTwisp's wide pink eyes and the Tweedles' small, black ones...

The Answer tickles her mind again.

She ignores it.

The Hatter turns toward her.

She closes the distance between them.

She kisses him.

There are no greetings, no riddles, no rhymes. There are no hello-how-was-your-day's. There is no prelude, no warning. She crosses the flagstones, steps into his arms, and presses her lips to his usual and delighted smile of greeting.

There's an instant of Pause. An instant that slays her, defeats her utterly...

And then his arms are warm around her. Pull her closer. She obliges and is overwhelmed by the feel of him. So close. Closer than any man has ever been to her. Closer than she has ever dared to imagine, to hope, to dream.

So suddenly, all that she wishes for is here in her arms, has enfolded her in his, is burning her with the intensity of his desire.

"D'nae call mae 'Hatter'," he whispers urgently between messy, frantic, breath-stealing kisses.

She doesn't. She gasps when he bends, nuzzling under her chin, then brushes his nose down her throat. Her hands tighten in his hair as his hot breath kisses her skin. She had considered herself a skilled wielder of her own imagination. She had been prideful of the fact that there exists no place her mind has not taken her. And yet with one puff of breath against her skin, he – this lover she has wanted too much to ever risk entertaining the thought of – proves her wrong, reveals her deficiencies.

She has never enjoyed the illumination of her incompetence so much.

"Tarrant..." she whispers when his lips make contact with her neck.

He lifts his head and very deliberately curls himself around her shorter frame. She meets his green, seemingly-improperly focused gaze for a moment before he lifts a hand, gently cradles the back of her head, and takes her mouth with his yet again. He savors her as if he can taste the sound of his name on her tongue.

"I came back for you," she hears herself whisper when he eases away. She hears it and hears the Truth in it. Necessary truth. Inescapable truth.

His sigh is soft, pained, heavy with need. "I'm yours. Only yours."

The very thought _owns_ her. She becomes his. Right then. In that moment. No matter what happens, she will never be anyone else's but _his._

Alice leans forward and presses her lips to his pale throat, beneath his Adam's apple. His fingers curl into the back of her tunic. Holding on.

She tastes him and hears his gasping growl: _"Yours!"_

"Then _be_ mine," she dares him.

And when he nods, she takes his hand – warm and rough – in hers and leads him from the balcony and to her room.

 

* * *

 

Mallymkun watches as Alice disappears down the hall. She turns away before she hears the door close and the lock turn. She makes her way to the abandoned balcony and stares at the spot in which Alice had stood, had embraced... someone. From the shadows of the hall, Mally had not been able to see the happenings on the balcony well, but her ears had caught Alice's words. Alice's and _only_ Alice's.

But, oh what she would not have given to hear another's! To hear _the_ other's! To hear _his_ words! She would not care one way or the other about the words themselves, for the _meaning_ would be clear! The meaning... that _evidence_ is all she asks for!

She stands in the place Alice had occupied and stares at the stone floor. The floor stares back. Whispers...

 _"Tell me, Dormouse, who is the leader of the Resistance?"_

 _"Come a little closer and maybe I will, Knave!"_

 _"And what will you do? Spit in my eye?"_

 _"Yah'd like that, wouldn' yah?"_

 _"For the last time, Dormouse. Who is the leader of the Resistance? If you don't tell me I shall simply **ask** the Hatter again."_

 _"Damn yah, Knave. Don' yah dare! **I'm** th' leader! It's **my** Resistance, see?"_

 _"Yes, despite having only the one eye, I do. Very **clearly.** "_

Mally shivers. She tells herself it's not a memory. She tells herself that conversation hadn't happened. She tells herself it... and all the... happenings that had followed after it, are nothing more than a nightmare.

Sometimes, she believes it.

Always, she _wants_ to believe it.

She thinks of Alice, the queen's mad champion, embracing Tarrant Hightopp out here on this balcony. And Mally is glad that, even if she can't believe everything's all right all of the time, Alice can.

Alice _does_.

Mally envies her that.

She remembers the tea party Thackery had dragged her to last week. The party where Alice had sat to the right of the Hatter's usual place. The party where Alice had laughed and poured tea and riddled and teased and passed the scones with graceful flicks of her wrist. The party where Alice had spoken to the Hatter's unoccupied chair.

Mally had tried. She really had. She had _tried_ to see him. She had strained her eyes trying to catch a glimpse and yet with every passing moment of him _not being there,_ she had feared – more and more – that what she had witnessed on Frabjous Day last had merely been a trick of the mind. Of her mind. That possibility had been... unendurable to think. She had so desperately wanted to speak to him at that tea party, but how could she have hoped to answer questions that she couldn't even hear? To confess her inability to Alice would have clued the girl in to the fact that...

No, Mally hadn't been able to bear the thought of Alice... _knowing._

Because, as long as Alice doesn't _know_ , Mally will not have to tell her the truth.

 _"Thank you for your cooperation, Dormouse. You're free to go."_

 _"Tha's a good one, Knave. Tell me another an' maybe I'll laugh."_

But he hadn't. With a wave of his gloved hand, he'd directed a card soldier to escort her out of the castle.

 _"Give my regards to the White Queen. Along with_ _**this.** _ _"_

Mally clamps her paws over her mouth to keep from crying out at the non-memory. There's no reason to let an old nightmare affect her so strongly. Those horrid things hadn't happened. She knows. She _knows._

Everything is fine.

According to the Alice, everything is _fine._

And that's more than enough for Mally.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

"Have you seen _all_ of Underland?" Alice asks, her fingertip tracing patterns on Tarrant's bare chest.

The sheets rustle as he shifts beneath her, pulls himself closer, more fully into the hollow created by her body as she leans over him, her head propped up on one hand. His fingers skim along her back. "I've seen a fair amount of it."

She smiles, gives in to temptation and leans down to press a kiss to the skin just below his small, dark nipple. "I'd like for you to show it to me."

"Underland?" he confirms, a hand tangling in her unbound hair as the other molds itself to the curve of her hip.

"Um-hm..." She watches her hand travel down his torso and her fingertips investigate his navel. He twitches, giggles. Alice smiles, happy to see and hear him being so much like his old self. And especially happy that it's her touch that has elicited those reactions. She lays her palm flat against his stomach and he relaxes.

"We could go together. Just the two of us," she continues. The idea has such appeal that she's sure she must be grinning like an absolute fool. "No more stares... No more odd looks... No more whispers that stop the moment we enter the room..."

With a sigh, she lays her weight upon his chest and presses her forehead to his shoulder. "I'm so tired of being gawked at. Perhaps we should have married first, but..."

"I doub' tha' woul'ha'stopped 'em, love," he murmurs, his arm coming around her.

She slides a knee between his thighs. "Why do they think this is so strange? You and I?"

Tarrant is silent for a long moment. "Can ye no' guess, my Alice?"

"Oh, I suppose I can," she grumbles. She looks up and his fingers trace the lines of her unhappy expression. "You're a hatter. I'm a champion. And so on and so forth. How quickly they've forgotten everything _you_ fought for."

He shakes his head. "It's not forgotten," he differs gently. "But my current status... yes, they do see that as an... oddity when we're together. Perhaps we shouldn't meet so openly..."

"I'll not keep this a secret, Tarrant. We've done nothing wrong."

"No, no, of course we haven't. Perhaps we have done something impossible and _that_ is why you so confound them?"

"Impossible? It's impossible to fall in love?"

His smile is both sad and amused all at once. "For some, I believe it is."

"Well," Alice declares, "it's beginning to annoy me. _They're_ beginning to annoy me. I hate the way they ignore you and disregard you... _I_ _ **hate**_ _it, Tarrant._ "

"So you wish to go away? See Underland?"

"Yes. With you. If you'll come with me."

"Alice... there is no one else I would wish to accompany and nowhere else I would wish to be."

She grins and presses another kiss to his sternum. "Then I'll talk to the queen about taking a leave of absence. How long do you need to finish your current work?"

"I could begin our journey at any time," he assures her. Alice doesn't protest when he turns, gently rolling her onto her back, and then leans in to nuzzle her neck. "At any time," he murmurs again, apparently finding the words to his liking and worthy of repetition. "Although, I doubt we'll find many comfortable beds along the way."

"Duly noted," she replies. Alice thrusts her fingers into his thick hair and urges his lips up to hers for a kiss.

Yes, Tarrant makes an excellent point about the... inconveniences of a long journey. She keeps this in mind when she speaks to the queen the next day.

Mirana's dark eyes light up when Alice mentions her ambitions to tour Underland – and Alice can't help expressing her plans enthusiastically – but then a small, worried frown furrows the queen's brow.

"Who would be going with you on this venture?"

Alice braces herself for the inevitable reprimand. She doesn't – not for one moment – believe the queen will be happy to hear who her travel companion will be. "Tarrant."

Alice expects the queen to look scandalized or at least sigh with exasperation. She does neither. She looks... _disturbed._ "Alice..."

"And before you ask, no, we will not require a chaperone. I'm a grown woman, Your Majesty, and Tarrant is an honorable gentleman."

"Yes, I realize that, Alice. However..."

Alice resists the urge to cross her arms over her chest. But she _does_ arch a brow in confrontational inquiry.

"Well, you see, Alice. There are many... dangers in Underland..."

"I'm sure Tarrant is aware of them."

"Ah, yes. No doubt. However, Alice, should you require... _assistance_... or find yourself... in need of aid, I am not sure..."

Alice feels her patience snap. "You trusted this man to lead you away from harm, at the cost of losing his entire clan. You allowed him to initiate a Resistance that was intended to return you to the throne. You trusted him to help me fulfill the prophecy in the Oraculum and _yet_ you have misgivings about his capabilities _now?_ "

"More than ever."

Alice disregards the protests of the tea service – "We're not all empty yet! Sit and have a bit more tea before you stomp off in a tizzy, luv!" – and stands. "Why would you say something like that?" she demands.

"Because... when love opens our eyes to that _one_ person, it often times makes us blind to all else."

"Tarrant would never neglect my safety." She turns toward the door, stops, then confronts the queen once again and accuses mockingly, "Are you trying to tell me – as tactfully as possible – that he's not really _there?_ That because _I'm_ the only one who sees him, he isn't _real?_ "

The queen says nothing in reply. Alice shakes her head, frustrated, and turns on her heel then marches from the room.

She passes a pair of frog footmen who startle guiltily when they notice her approach. A trio of courtiers glance at her with poorly executed subtlety. "Madder than a hatter!" she hears one of them whisper, sotto voce.

Alice glares at them all, dares them to speak their minds to her face.

No one does.

Which is a pity as she'd _love_ to shout in their perfectly painted faces about courtly manners and such. Perhaps she's mad but at least _she_ doesn't ignore a war hero when he's standing right in front of her. And least _she_ doesn't pretend not to hear him speak! Courtly manners. What a joke. What an utterly worthless joke!

Alice turns away from all of them. Let them say and think what they will. She cannot control them, nor would she waste her time trying even if she had the power to do so!

She storms out of the castle and into the company of the trees. _These_ whispers do not judge her, do not label her, do not insult her with their insistence that she must not believe her own eyes, her own ears, her own skin! What would the queen have to say if she knew Alice has been Tarrant's lover for nearly a week now?

Despite her temper, Alice smiles at the image.

Tarrant finds her not long after her abrupt departure from tea, sitting under a particularly sympathetic-looking specimen in the orchard.

"Alice," he whispers and she looks up, startled.

"How did you find me?" She'd taken so many turns through the expansive garden, she's relatively sure she's gotten herself lost. Only the fact that she is once again too busy brooding to worry about finding her way back to the castle has kept her mind off of the possibility.

He smiles and sinks down to the ground next to her.

"I overheard you and the queen."

She huffs. "Half of Marmoreal probably did." They'd been speaking quite... forcefully near the end of that conversation. The reminder only brings back her desire to leave, to be gone and away from all these people who think she's completely and utterly off her head!

"How can you stand to be treated this way?" Alice challenges him. "I can't bear it!"

He wraps an arm around her shoulders, presses his cheek to her hair, and sighs. "I've always been a bit beneath their notice, Alice. Now even more so."

"I don't understand why."

"I know you don't. I know."

She turns her face toward his neck and inhales deeply. His scent calms the remaining traces of aggravation that his presence had not already soothed away. "Let's leave tomorrow."

"We could..." he agrees, a reluctant tone in his voice.

"But?"

His arm tightens and she feels the muscles beneath her cheek cord with tension. "Perhaps you might wish to finish the tour you've already begun first?"

"Of the castle, you mean?"

"... Yes."

She sighs. "I don't suppose there's some Underlandian superstition about leaving unfinished things?"

He chuckles ruefully. "A superstition? No. But it's common sense that they will demand to be finished at one time or another, and finishing them in a timely manner is always preferable."

Alice considers that for a moment. She also considers the fact that he isn't reprimanding her for wanting to run away like a spoilt child who believes she's misunderstood by her parents. She appreciates this _very_ much, especially because that is _precisely_ how she has been behaving. With a wry grin, Alice shuffles her plans for departure aside.

"I'm fortunate to have so saganistute a hatter," she whispers after a while.

He presses his lips to her temple. "And _I_ am fortunate," he agrees, "to be the champion's hatter."

 

* * *

 

"And here we have the Royal Haberdashery, Hightopp Workshop," the carpet announces, waving one of its many tassels at the closed door on her right.

Alice smiles, sighs. _At last!_ She's been touring the castle for nearly three weeks in total and she'd begun to wonder if her curiosity would _ever_ manage to lead her here!

She's particularly proud of the fact that she has managed to keep herself from reminding Tarrant that she's still waiting to try on one of his fanciful hats. Today, however, she doesn't think she'll be able to contain herself.

"Shall I knock?" she wonders aloud. Perhaps that would be more disruptive than merely letting herself in?

"Not if you're expecting an answer!"

She grins. Yes, Tarrant can be very... _focused_ when he's... _busy._ Her memory calls forth the nights she's been the recipient of that marvelous Focus. She shivers at the remembered feel of his hands. Her blood races at the recalled sight of him leaning over her, the sensation of him filling her, fulfilling her every desire.

"Well? Are you going in or shall we continue with the tour?"

"I'm going in," she replies. "Although, perhaps we'd better continue our tour another day."

"As you like!" the carpet answers and then falls silent.

Alice places a hand on the latch, presses down and then inward. The door creaks open on neglected hinges and the corner of the door itself carves a trail in the floor, stirring dust motes. Alice expects to find a room full-to-bursting with cheerful chaos and the sight of her lover bent over some hat or other, oblivious to the world... She expects to distract him with a kiss on his neck and a hand beneath his vest and...

Alice steps into the hat workshop.

And stares.

Bolts of fabric molder on the shelves, so covered with dust she cannot make out their original color. The sewing machine is draped in cobwebs. The window is grimy with years of neglect.

And there is no Tarrant Hightopp here.

There is no one here.

Nor has there been... for _years._

 _  
_

* * *

 

"Your Majesty, this is _ridiculous!_ How can you expect me to continue training that mad Uplander as your champion? She talks to figments of her imagination, _spars_ with them, _holds their hand, takes_ _ **tea**_ _in the gardens with them!_ "

Mirana gently interjects, "I do believe that you're under a misapprehension, Sir Reginald. There is no _them_. There is only _him._ Just one... figment."

"One or twenty, it doesn't matter! You know as well as I do that warriors with excessive imagination are assigned watch over the Outlands and not charged with the protection of Marmoreal. _Imagination_ – or in the Alice's case, _madness!_ – has no business being so near Your Majesty. It's the way things have always been done."

"I'm aware of this, sir," Mirana replies, resisting the urge to massage her temples. "But things need not always be done in the same manner as their historical precedent indicates they must: I will not hold a bit of madness against anyone. It's quite an admirable feature to possess here in Underland."

The captain of the White Guard takes exception to the reminder. "Admirable in a hatter, perhaps, but not in a warrior charged with your wellbeing, Your Majesty."

"We're all concerned," a fish butler stutters.

The queen does not reprimand him for speaking out of turn, as her sister might have done. She gives him a kind smile. "Yes, I understand she has been behaving a bit... strangely..."

"Why," a frog footman croaks, "I heard her speaking to nothing but air the other day. In the library. Called it a name, too." He does not say the name. Everyone knows what name he speaks of.

"Right you are," Tweedledee concurs. "The Alice ain't quite right in th' head."

"Ain't quite left, either," Tweedledum asserts. "Wouldn' be right if she were only one or the other!"

Nivens McTwisp shudders as he clears his throat. In his usual wavering voice, he points out, "Your Majesty has asked me to keep an eye on the Alice from time to time and you've heard my reports. That said... that is... she _is_ mad, but perhaps in the way the Hatter was. Merely mad. Nothing more."

"And you would have a mad champion charged with the protection of the queen? Need I remind you of where the madness led the Hatter?" the captain argues vehemently and the white rabbit cringes behind the nearest body for protection from the vitriol. "Is that an acceptable risk, McTwisp? The repetition of _that_ historic event?"

"Someone must tell her," a courtier declares with righteous indignation. The pronouncement is received with murmurs of agreement and fervent nods.

Mirana stares for a moment, then drops her gaze.

Suddenly – oddly – she is reminded of the Battle of Frabjous Day. Even before that, however, she had sensed something... _wrong_ with their champion. Despite tending to Tweedledee and Tweedledum following their miraculous escape from Salazen Grum, Mirana had noticed Alice, just a ways further down the white stone drive, conversing with... someone. "Where's your hat?" Mirana had distinctly heard.

She sighs. She should have guessed _then._ She should have realized that Alice hadn't noticed Mallymkun's tear-streaked face, liquid sorrow that had trekked through and then matted her pale fur. She should have made _sure_ that Alice had heard the news. But she hadn't. She had permitted Alice the space she'd thought the girl had needed.

Had that been a mistake?

There had been a moment during the battle on Frabjous Day and then following it when Mirana could _swear_ she'd seen the Hatter fight, stand at her side, Futterwhacken... That would have been impossible, however. Despite how very much she'd wished otherwise. She's never asked the Tweedles why they'd applauded, if they had also seen... the same thing she had.

Perhaps that is why all of them – herself included! – have permitted Alice to enjoy her delusions for as long as they have: none of them want to accept the reality that they live in; none of them want to give up the impossible vision of a mad hatter on a battlefield, a mad hatter who had fought and danced and then disappeared...

Yes, they say things become terribly confusing on battlefields. Mirana recalls when she'd watched Alice consider the vial of Jabberwocky blood. She'd watched as Alice had turned away from them all to address someone who had most definitely _not_ been there...

 _"Be back before you know it!"_

 _"How could I forget?"_

 _"Hatter, why_ _**is** _ _a raven like a writing desk?"_

That had been the moment; yes, Mirana should have stepped forward then. She should have told her – and _firmly!_ – that should she return, Tarrant would _not –_ could not _possibly!_ – be waiting for her.

And yet...

That seems to be precisely what has happened. At least in Alice's mind.

She considers the tiled floor in the shining reception hall, where this "emergency" meeting had been called, and recalls Alice's glowing smile – had it only been yesterday? – at tea when she'd announced her plan to tour Underland with...

The queen remembers that beautiful expression, so full of love and happiness and _life_. She does not wish to destroy that. In fact, it would go against her vows, would it not? To destroy something so precious? So full of... _muchness_?

She had vowed not to harm another living creature. Half a fortnight ago, Mirana had believed that allowing Alice her... delusions would eventually do more harm than good. She had been in favor of telling her, had entrusted – no, she had _assigned!_ – that task to Mallymkun.

 _"When you judge it to be the Right Time, Mally, I wish for you to inform Alice of the Truth."_

 _"Yahr Majesty... I_ _**can't** _ _..._ _"_

 _"It will be painful for her, at first, but she will recover. Trust me on this. When she is ready to Know, she will ask you. And you must tell her."_

Mirana feels the prickling sensation of hot tears gathering in her eyes.

She looks up as one elderly gentleman declares, "I shall locate the Alice and handle this matter at once!"

" ** _No!_** "

Everyone comes to an immediate and sudden halt. The White Queen has never shouted before – had never even considered it! – but now, as she looks out upon the assortment of startled expressions, Mirana realizes she must have done just that.

"Do not speak to her of this. This is something I will not _force_ upon Alice. She will realize the truth in her own time. And she will be fortunate if she never does!"

With that, the queen stands and sweeps from the room. She does not stop until she finds herself in the royal kitchens. Her hands move of their own accord as ingredient after ingredient lands in a clean, metal crucible. It's not until the teaspoon of Wishful Thinking begins to simmer and steam in the vessel that she realizes which potion she has created: Omnichosen.

The queen regards the concoction in the funnel-shaped reducer and stares. Does she dare? She is _The Queen_ , after all; would it not be supremely selfish of her to indulge in the Omnichosen, the potion which will reveal Mirana's strongest desire? Monarchs are not generally permitted to have Desires, for they lead to all sorts of Bad Things... Envy, Lust, Selfishness...

Mirana is the White Queen and the servant of her people. The servant of Underland. But... does that not also mean she is Alice's servant? Should she not do whatever she can to make the Right Choice with regards to her champion's future?

She does not fool herself: this potion will not show her the Right Choice. No potion in all the world will do that. But it _will_ show her her own heart. And she hesitates to see it. For, really, _anything_ at all could be concealed behind her morals and duties.

 _Anything._

But is it not better to Know? Should she not know herself as thoroughly as possible? Is this not one of her duties?

Mirana stares, blindly, into the bubbling broth. To tell Alice the truth or to let her be... to keep her here at Marmoreal for her own safety or set her free...

Mirana closes her eyes, leans down, breathes in the fumes and reaches for her greatest, singularly most longed-for desire _..._

 _A woman with blond, wavy hair sits on the top of a cliff, watching the sun rise over the far off wild country of the Outlands..._

 _She leans to one side as if supported by another's arm, another's warmth, another's presence..._

 _"Mirana's visiting today. And she's bringing Mally."_

 _There's a moment of silence and then she laughs._

 _"I don't mind being your interpreter at all," she assures that there-but-not-there person and, after another silent moment during which she must have received a reply of some sort, she leans toward the individual Mirana **still** cannot see, and purses her lips in a kiss._

 _"It is my pleasure, Tarrant. And it always will be."_

Gasping, Mirana opens her eyes and blinks at the sight of Thackery shivering opposite her worktable, a wooden spatula in his paws.

"There, there," he soothes, his eyelids twitching. "We're al'righ'nauw, Yer Majesty."

"Yes," she agrees, smiling. "Yes, we are, Thackery. We are indeed."

 

* * *

 

"Tell me where Tarrant is."

Mallymkun looks away, determined to enjoy the lovely sunshine in the garden, determined not to let _that_ non-memory return to her. "I've tol' yah! No one _knows_ where th'Atter's gone! Besides," Mally asserts, " _yah're_ th' one keepin' track o' 'im these days, ain't yah?"

"I've been to the hat workshop," Alice says.

Mally hunches her shoulders and places a paw on the pommel of her hat pin sword. "Well, that shoulda been enough for yah, then! Yah know where 'ee's _not_ and yah know where 'ee _would_ be if 'ee _could!_ "

Alice blinks, her face blank with shock, her eyes brimming with suspicion. Mally does not want to see the answer to the riddle there in her eyes. The Hatter is _safe_ and _well_ so long as Alice _does not_ _ **know!**_

But she Suspects. Before Alice can ask a question that Mally cannot avoid with accusations and careful phrasing, she turns away. She's desperate enough to consider joining that idiotic meeting in the throne room. Not because she believes for one minute anyone other than the queen will care in the slightest about _her_ opinion regarding Alice's madness (and the queen already knows Mally's thoughts on the matter!) but because it is _away from here!_ From Alice and her damned demanding _curiosity!_

She points herself in the direction of somewhere else... however, she is not fast enough.

Alice demands, "Where is his hat?"

Mally, in the midst of storming off, pauses.

 _"Give my regards to the White Queen. Along with_ _**this.** _ _"_

 _"No... NO! WHA' 'AVE YAH DONE!"_

 _"I've... dealt with the leader of the Resistance and in a very timely manner, thanks to you. Why, in another few moments, the Hatter's accomplice **might** have actually succeeded in freeing that mad fool!"_

 _"Yah... yah..."_

 _"Bid you farewell, Dormouse. And, oh, don't forget to take **this** with you when you go. We can't have bits of rubbish cluttering up the queen's lovely castle, can we?"_

"Mallymkun?"

"No, Alice," she whispers. "No. I don' care how muchy yah are... Yah're not wantin' teh go there."

"I am. Show me where it is."

Mallymkun looks up and into the determined face of the Alice, the Queen's Champion. And she has to look away. "Maybe _I'm_ no' wantin' teh go there."

"I need to see it, Mallymkun. _Please._ "

The dormouse takes a deep breath, rubs her stinging eyes, and nods. This, Mally finally understands, is something she cannot fight. The queen had been right all along: Alice _would_ come to her for answers and Mally would _have_ to give them. "Al'righ'," she sighs with defeat. "I'll show yah."

 _Maybe it'll put a stop to the madness,_ Mallymkun thinks...

Hopes...

Dreads...

 

* * *

 

Alice stares at the plaque. Reads it. Reads it again.

By the time her tears have spent themselves, Mally has gone. And that's just as well. Alice does not want to tell her she'd been right: Now that she's here, Alice knows she hadn't wanted to come. To see. To _know._

When she finally finds the impetus to move, her joints protest; her muscles feel stiff. She does not let that stop her. Alice reaches above the memorial and gently lifts a battered, beaten, blood-splattered top hat from its honored perch.

No one stops her when she heads down the hall to her room, the room she's shared with Tarrant every night for the last week-and-then-some. No one dares to remind her that it's dinner time. Or, perhaps they do. Perhaps she simply doesn't hear them. She can believe that now; she can believe it's possible that sometimes she simply _cannot_ hear them.

She enters her room and he's there, waiting. Always waiting, even when he arrives, he seems to be... waiting. Solid, still, solitary. A sentinel. He stands at the window, gazing out at the very- _very_ -late afternoon sky. It'll be dusk soon.

Alice lays the hat upon the bed – _their_ bed – and approaches him, wraps her arms around him, buries her nose in his vibrant hair, inhales.

She doesn't ask him why he's not working. She doesn't ask him why he is merely staring out a window. And when she doesn't ask, he _Knows._

His hands cover hers. She waits for him to fidget, to shift, to _breathe._

He doesn't.

Because he doesn't have to. Not anymore.

The tears return with the Whisper she hadn't wanted to acknowledge. The Answer she had been determined to defy. She has no choice now but to accept it.

"I found the hat workshop today."

His fingers curl around her hand.

"And Mally showed me where they've been keeping your hat."

Tarrant's warm, rough, _real_ fingers interlace with hers and hold on. Tightly.

"You died. Both you _and_ Chessur. At Salazen Grum."

He doesn't deny it.

"How is it I can see you? Touch you?"

"Perhaps it is because you are also dead, Alice?" he speculates softly. "Perhaps half of you died when I did. Perhaps half of me lives in you. I cannot say."

She'd been expecting this – or something like it – true, but she cannot... She is not... She won't...!

From somewhere deep inside, she finds a force of contrariness strong enough to give her the strength to fight the un-defeat-able. She shakes her head. She hears the words. She knows she _should_ believe it, but she _can't._

"No," she asserts, her arms tightening around him until her muscles ache. "You're not... You are _Not._ " If a word could be law, those three would have been pillars of Underland.

"Here," she says, stepping back and scooping up his hat from the bed. She holds it out to him.

Tarrant regards her, every line of his body illustrating the _ache_ he feels. "I cannae wear it, Alice. No' any launger."

Stubbornly, she closes the distance between them. Tarrant does not protest when she lifts his hat and places it squarely upon his head. Releases it.

And they both watch as it tumbles, plummets to the floor.

Alice glares at it through her tears. In her lifetime, she has believed in many things – impossible things! – but she cannot believe _this._ Not this.

Tarrant's fingers gently press against her chin, tilting her face up to his.

"I cannot fight beside you on our journey, Alice," he tells her, his own eyes sad – so very sad – and yet free of tears. No, he'll never cry again. How fortunate for him!

His fingertips caress her jaw, her cheeks, smear her tears. "I cannot give you a family. I cannot even be seen on your arm. I cannot be introduced to your friends. I cannot... be _real_ to anyone other than you."

"But don't you see?" she manages despite her aching throat. "You always _have_ been. That's why I said you were a dream. Not because you'd already... and I'd been... No, I said that because if you _were_ real then... then what I'd felt was real and I couldn't... not _then_ , I couldn't... But _now...!_ "

" _Now_ , Alice," he softly interjects, "everyone believes you are mad."

She smiles even as tears fall freely from her lashes. "All the best people are."

The Hatter's top hat lies on the floor, forgotten, as Alice, the Mad Champion of Marmoreal, steps into her lover's arms.

 

* * *

 

I don't like to remember my demise. A messy and all-around unpleasant affair, truth be told. Not painful so much but... sudden. And rather undignified. I hadn't even been wearing the Hat. And as I don't care for the feeling of Regret, I choose to overlook the fact that I'd died at all, in the midst of learning Tarrant's shape for the love of a hat and the taste of that forbidden curiosity of mine: friendship. We'd been caught unawares and promptly slain and that hardly matters now, in any case. I am _here_ and I must admit I've yet to be disappointed. _Here_ is an interesting sort of place for those possessed of innate curiosity, such as myself.

My skills are no longer required, which _is_ a shame. In fact, I hadn't even been permitted to use them to heal those nasty Bandersnatch scratches on the Alice's arm. But of course she'd been patently uncooperative in that regard. Had denied me my moment of Importance. She's lucky I hadn't held that against her! Why, it's quite an honor to be offered treatment by someone possessed of Evaporating skills, especially someone as proficient as I!

I sometimes find myself moderately concerned about that – the absence of a qualified healer in Underland. What will become of unwitting victims of Bandersnatch love taps now? How many creatures are as brave as the Alice, willing to befriend the frumious creature to receive the cure? Yes, I'd been a _much_ more palatable alternative. Back when I _had_ been an alternative...

But enough of that. There's no point in venturing where nothing can be gained from it.

And speculating on things _gained..._

How delightful it had been to realize that the Alice is possessed of the Sight! Why, she had _Seen_ us and _Heard_ us as if our bodies hadn't already been thrown into the bloody moat around Salazen Grum and would eventually end up in Gummer's Slough. (I still shudder to think of all that mud and muck and slime clinging to my lovely coat, but, as I've mentioned before, that is neither here nor there. Or rather, it is _there_ and I am _here_ and therefore have no need to ponder it whatsoever.)

But yes, Alice had _Seen_ us and she had _spoken_ to us and _Heard_ us and I have never seen Tarrant so utterly and unashamedly _overjoyed_ as he had been when he'd realized...

And then she'd touched him. He'd been on the verge of babbling himself into a serious Misunderstanding with the object of his overflowing affections and the Alice had _Touched_ him!

Why, I'd nearly fallen right out of the air!

Never, in all the impossibilities of Underland, had I imagined that Tarrant and the Alice... That they would be capable of... That they'd been so blessed...

Yes, I'd seen this once before. Once and only once. And in all my lifetime, I had not seen it again. Not after my own parents – rather atypical Cheshires, if you ask me! – had passed on. (Although _passed on_ to _where_ I am irritated to admit I don't know. I have not encountered them since arriving _here._ But, then again, _here_ is a rather vast sort of place...)

Death, it seems, had been outmatched. For there, in the moonlight, on the drive to the castle at Marmoreal, the Alice had grasped Tarrant's arms, had looked, for all the world, as if she could actually _feel_ the fabric of his brilliantly blue jacket and his flesh and bones beneath her hands. In that instant, I witnessed such _relief_ in Tarrant's expression, I'd known _precisely_ what he must have been thinking: he'd reassured himself that he – _we_ – hadn't perished in that wretched dungeon cell, cleaved by the knave's sword. The poor, mad fool had been _sure_ we both lived still. That those horrid moments had been nothing more than his mad mind playing tricks on him again.

I hadn't had the heart to correct him, for I had also wanted to believe that. Yes, I'd wanted Life again with all my greedy little feline heart.

And so we'd gone to war.

And so the Alice had won.

 _How,_ in all the possibilities of Underland, Tarrant had managed to actually _stick_ that bloody Jabberwocky with _a sword_ I do not know, but h _e had!_ I could speculate on this for a significant amount of time indeed – for I have before! – and only the same three possibilities ever come to me: first, the Jabberwocky, being near death itself (as foretold by the Oraculum) had entered that Place In Between where Tarrant and I had found ourselves and was, therefore, vulnerable to Tarrant's attack; second, the Fates (if they truly exist although I fear they _must_ ) had permitted the interference to save the Alice; third, for the safety of his still-living half, Tarrant actually _could_ (and perhaps still _can_ ) manifest himself for a moment.

Or perhaps longer. Yes, it had been Longer, hadn't it? The Red Queen had _Seen_ him as well, shouted. The Knave had fought him, hadn't he? And following the dreadful slaying and such, Tarrant had prevented the man from attacking the Red Queen. He'd then Futterwhackened to the applause of everyone.

At the time, I'd fancied that the Powers had been permitting him the chance to say his farewell. (My own farewell had been satisfying, I admit. I've always had a fascination with hats and to carry the crown from the Red Queen to the White had been quite the honor! Why, my paws still feel warm from touching its golden surface! Hmm... yes, a rather _lovely_ moment all-around!) Yes, perhaps the Powers – or, perhaps, Fates – had allowed us, two unsung heroes, a moment for our good-byes, a moment to finish what we had begun, but, considering Tarrant's prolonged farewell, perhaps, it is possible that...

Well. _Many_ things are possible in Underland, after all.

Many, many things, with the exception of the Alice remaining behind. She'd left, and with her departure, our Time had run out. I'd felt the pull of the Other Land just as Tarrant had. He'd fought, resisted. (After leading the Resistance for so long, I would not have expected anything less from him!) But, in the end, he'd joined me _here._

I attempted to make our existence here... bearable. I had thought, as I am no longer a cat in need of Evaporating skills or even a survival instinct, perhaps I could be a cat in need of a friend.

Tarrant, the idiot, had not seemed to notice the change.

He'd moped. He'd mourned. And then, suddenly, after an incalculable amount of time, he had startled, looked up, and _smiled._

"It's Alice," he'd lisped. "She's returned to Underland. Do you see her, Chessur? Just there? Across the bridge?"

No, I most certainly had not. And I'd been quite put out about it, too! And I'd been equally irritated when Tarrant had taken a lurching step toward that bridge which only _he_ could see.

I remember I'd opened my mouth to shout, to call him back, to stop him.

And I remember I hadn't done any of those things. I hadn't even tried. I'd _remembered_ you see, that Connection between Tarrant and the Alice that Death had not been able to break. And I had realized: it is not – and never will be – my place to try to keep him from her. Not even for my own selfish cat's sake.

When that bridge had appeared before Tarrant, he'd taken it. And without a single backward glance. He might have looked back if he'd had a reason to. But I'd never given him much of one. And certainly not one that could ever rival the offer of being with his Alice again!

I am a cat, after all, and my kind have never had much use for friendship. Even if I _had_ versed myself in it, dared to become skilled at it, it would have made no difference at all. Not in the end.

I may be selfish and a cat but even _I_ cannot avoid the truth _all_ the time!

Still, after all the hullabaloo over it, you would have thought he'd remember to take his hat along with him! Now I look after it, of course. Just until the next time I see him. And I wonder (just a bit) if he'd _intended_ to leave it behind for me. If he'd remembered our bargain or if he had meant for it to be a parting gift, a thank-you for my brief attempt at friendship. I shall have to ask him when I next have the chance...

I consider him, you know. Upon occasion. I wonder where he is. I wonder if Alice has become any more... cooperative _this_ time around. If she still insists Underland is all a dream. If she still frowns at Tarrant's excited ramblings and riddles.

Although I _highly_ doubt it. No, I'm quite sure she's kept that muchness of hers. No doubt Tarrant is in an _excellent_ position to enjoy it, even! And, I'm not ashamed to admit it: the thought makes me smile one of my true Cheshire grins.

Perhaps I should have warned Tarrant about... that. I should have warned him that _those_ sorts of activities have Consequences. After all, how else would someone be _born_ with a natural talent for Evaporation?

But no. I think – in the end – it's best that I hadn't mentioned it at all when I'd had the chance. Even if it would have been... friendly to do so. That might have resulted in something... detrimental to my legacy.

Underland needs more individuals who possess Evaporating skills. They make the world more interesting, after all. And _that_ ,certainly, could _never_ be a bad thing.

No, not in the slightest.

 


	4. Epilogue & Notes

 

The queen considers her champion across the fine, white bone china tea service. "Alice..."

"Yes?"

Mirana winces at the young woman's apprehensive tone. The queen is tempted to drop the subject she wishes to discuss entirely. But she had reinstated their teatimes for a reason! Determined, she continues, "I would like to share with you an... option."

Alice takes a sip of tea, her brow arched with condescension. "An option or an order?"

"An option, Alice, for you and... Tarrant to consider."

Across the table, Alice sets her teacup down with a graceless clatter.

Mirana still finds it difficult to believe that Tarrant is still... that it's possible Alice _truly_ sees... After all, Mirana knows of no _precedence_ for this... But, however...

She takes a deep breath and says, "Were you to decide that life here in Mamoreal is not to your liking, there are... other posts you might consider. On the border of the Outlands, for instance, where you would be expected to maintain the border and resolve local disputes... at your discretion."

"And you would trust my judgment?"

"Alice," the queen assures her, "although many question your sanity, I have never questioned your sense of right and wrong."

For a long moment, Alice says nothing. Mirana watches as she spins her half-empty teacup in its saucer slowly. One rotation... two...

"This offer," Alice says finally, glancing up. "Would you be making this because you still believe me to be... mad?"

"Alice, my champion," Mirana replies with a heartfelt smile. "I make it because nothing would give me greater pleasure than to believe that you are _not._ "

And when Alice looks up over the tea service there is a gentle smile curving her lips – a smile free of bitterness and stress, a smile the queen has not seen in what feels like a _very_ long time – and a warmth in her eyes.

"I'll have to talk to Tarrant first but—"

Mirana frowns slightly as Alice glances to the side, her gaze moving from up high to lower. She grins at the neighboring chair as if someone has just seated themselves in it. Mirana suppresses a shiver at the thought of Tarrant sitting so close to them despite his... deceased state. The thought doesn't appear to bother Alice, however. She reaches out a hand to that invisible guest and when she turns her attention back to the queen, Mirana sees her answer in her eyes.

"We accept."

 

*~* The End *~*

 

 

* * *

 

Notes: So, you still have questions? You're _curious?_ Well, I shall do my best:

(1) Stayne: There was a misunderstanding during Mally's interrogation. She was defending Tarrant out of love but, as Stayne does not understand love he assumes she's trying to protect the _real_ leader of the Resistance out of loyalty. In his mind, she'd just confirmed that the Hatter is the mastermind behind the on-going rebellion against the Red Queen. In my mind, I imagine him marching off to gloat _and_ make sure there are no rescue attempts happening. Of course, he interrupts the latter and... *ahem* Yes.

(2) The Uprising: In the film, the Hatter organizes the uprising in the Red Queen's court, but I can easily imagine Mally – enraged and out for vengeance – managing to do something similar with the aid of the Tweedles and Bayard's family and, yes, even an unusually muchy McTwisp.

(3) Triumphant Return: Right, so, Tarrant is holding the Tweedles' hands as they return to Mamoreal... or is he? After all, that's what _Alice_ sees through the spyglass. Actually, the fact that no one greeted Tarrant or Chessur when they arrived, despite their bravery, made me a little Suspicious. Why was Alice the only one to interact with them? Even Mally didn't stick around... Which got me thinking about all the times in the last bit of the movie when the Hatter and Chessur's interactions with others are limited to themselves... and Alice. When I realized that... well, can you blame me for considering the ghost angle?

(4) The Hatter's Top Hat: After the fuss dies down on the battlefield, Nivens McTwisp hands the Hatter his hat. Yes, I realize I didn't show McTwisp's perspective on this. I declare we shall assume that just as Chessur could touch the crown in That Moment, the white rabbit could return Tarrant's hat to him.

(5) The White Queen's Champion: Even if Alice goes on a tour of Underland, she'll still be the queen's champion. This fic is different from my main series, One Promise Kept, so the duties of the champion are different. Alice stays in Marmoreal during the story because she has nowhere else to go, honestly. She trains because she isn't completely opposed to fighting on the White Queen's behalf again. But she doesn't have to _stay_ in Marmoreal. If the queen needs her, she'll summon her. Otherwise, Alice can do whatever and go wherever she likes.

 


End file.
